


the first step is one you believe in (the second one might be profound)

by slappyjr



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slappyjr/pseuds/slappyjr
Summary: "You ever think of quittin'?"





	the first step is one you believe in (the second one might be profound)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sciencefictioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/gifts).



> gift fic for sciencefictioness for the 2018 mc76 secret santa! merry christmas y'all, and a howdy new year
> 
> title from i'll follow you by shinedown

"You'll need to restock soon." Jack carefully repacks all of Jesse's ammo, making sure not to leave any stray bullets on the bedspread, before opening their medkit. Maybe it’s the army boy in him but Jack always feels soothed by taking inventory of their supplies, even when his joints ache after a long day and his visor is beginning to give him a headache. Jesse grunts an affirmative from the rickety chair in the corner where he sits cleaning their guns. Jack thinks it's almost domestic; their little nightly routine in the cheap motel of the week. When he glances up, though, Jesse's forehead is pinched. "What's wrong, Jess?"

Jesse looks up, smooths out his expression, and turns his attention back to Jack's sidearm. "Nothin'. Just tired, is all."

He _looks_ tired, now that Jack's attention is on him. The strong slope of his shoulders seems weighted down, the warmth in his eyes dampened. His hands finish their work with practiced ease, muscle memory guiding him until he sets the pistol down on the table. With his job done, Jesse looks at a loss. Jack is up and moving toward him before his brain can think to do it, overcome with the need to fix it somehow. He touches Jesse's shoulder, then his face. "You sure?" he says softly.

Jesse leans into his hand and closes his eyes. He doesn't say anything. Jack doesn't push, just runs his bare thumb over Jesse's high cheekbone and waits. His own eyes slip shut against the red vision of his visor, letting the world narrow to the warm skin at his palm. The ceiling fan squeaks with every turn and next door someone's television is just loud enough to come through the thin walls. Jesse's head turns and Jack feels lips at his wrist.

"You ever think of quittin'?"

Jack's eyes open again. Jesse is watching his visor for a reaction that he can’t see. He looks so tired.

"Yeah," Jack says. "Sometimes." He stops there, doesn't say that he wonders if they ever could. If this life is something that will go quietly and let them have a new normal, a _real_ normal. Or if they're too haunted and hunted to ever settle down longer than a week or two before someone or something puts them on the run again. Jesse already knows that, has already thought it, so he doesn't say.

“I don’t—” Jesse halts and turns his face back into Jack’s wrist, sighing. “I don’t wanna die doin’ this,” he says, muffled. “But more ‘n that, I don’t wanna see you die doin’ this.”

Jack’s chest clenches. “Jesse…”

Jesse stands and takes Jack's face in both his hands, careful of his visor when he kisses him. He smiles softly against Jack's lips. When he pulls back, it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just one of those days, darlin', don't worry about me. Shower and sleep and I'll be feelin' right as rain," he says. He kisses Jack once, twice more before shuffling to the bathroom.

Jack feels a bit colder without Jesse in his space. He would trade what little he has left to be able to pull him back and tell him _yes, let's do it, let’s go_. But he doesn't. Instead, he goes back to the bed to inventory the medkit.

Bottle of rubbing alcohol, half empty. Three rolls of gauze. One roll of tape. Bottle of mixed pain  pills, mostly full. Box of 32 Band-Aids, new. The steady hiss of the shower draws Jack's thoughts back to Jesse. From what little he’s said about it, Jesse didn't seem to have much of a childhood. He was up to his neck in outlaws and gangsters even then. Constantly looking over your shoulder, worrying about the next fight; that's no way for a kid to live.

 _That's no way for_ anyone _to live_ , Jack thinks.

His head hurts. He packs away the medkit without bothering to count the rest. Habit holds no comfort now. He shuts off his visor and removes it, carefully feeling for the bedside table and setting it down. The darkness that used to cause him so much anxiety has become a welcome respite lately. The visor means business; something to do, somewhere to run, someone to shoot. No visor means it’s just him and Jesse. He trusts Jesse with his vulnerability.

He thinks maybe Jesse is trying to return the favor.

The shower knob squeaks as it turns off. Jack sits in the same spot, picking a loose thread on the bedsheet. He listens to the barely-there sound of Jesse padding barefoot back into the room, rummaging through his pack, pulling on clean clothes. By the time he feels the bed dip behind him and a hand come to rest on his hip, Jack's headache is almost gone.

"You need anything, hun? I'm going to bed." Jesse smells like bar soap and toothpaste. So normal, so familiar, Jack could almost pretend they were in a house, that they weren't leaving tomorrow, never coming back.

"No," he says, squeezing the hand on his hip. Jesse's skin is warm and a little damp. "I'm right behind you."

There's a kiss laid on the back on his neck before Jesse pulls away and settles. Jack strips down to his shirt and shorts and tosses his clothes in the direction of the chair. Ordinarily, habit would have him fold them but he can’t be bothered now. He slips under the covers and seeks out Jesse's form, presses close and kisses the first bit of bare skin his lips find.

"Love you, Jess."

"Love you, too."

 

===

 

Jack wakes second. Jesse is still beside him, rubbing an absentminded circle into Jack's shoulder with his thumb. Jack turns his head and finds Jesse's bicep, kisses it on instinct. He hears a chuckle.

"Mornin’."

"Morning," Jack mumbles. "What time is it?"

"Not quite six."

Jack stretches his legs and can't stifle a yawn. The thumb on his shoulder, warm and calloused, hasn't stopped. "How long have you been up?"

"Couple'a minutes. You look real good in this light, Jack." The humor has returned to Jesse's voice from last night; Jack can hear his warm smile before he feels it pressing softly and insistently to his lips. "Real handsome," Jesse mumbles against him.

"Mm," Jack says, because that’s all he can say when he's so reluctant to stop kissing. Sleep still clings to the edges of his mind and everything is warm and hazy and Jesse. He wishes it could always be like this. "You too," he finally manages, and Jesse laughs. Jack laughs too.

A few more kisses, a few more after that, and they force themselves to face the day. Jesse sits up and stretches, groaning long and loud. "I think they got coffee in the lobby. Want me to grab you some? Can't be much worse than the last place," he says, punctuated with a yawn.

"Let's quit."

In the silence that follows, even Jack is surprised. The words were out of his mouth before he could think about saying them, but the longer they hang in the air, the more he means it. The more he _wants_ it. He wants more mornings like this, without the part that comes next. He wants the security of knowing that they'll have a hundred more mornings. Jack sits up, resolute. He waits.

"You mean it?" Jesse says slowly. The hope in his voice bolsters Jack.

"Yeah, Jess, I mean it." He reaches out and Jesse's hand meets his in a second. "It's gonna be hard—"

"I know."

"—real hard, but we can figure it out."

"I know."

There's a beat, a moment, where they squeeze each other’s hands, letting it sink in, before Jesse yanks Jack into him and they fall back into bed, limbs tangling. Jesse's smiling mouth is pressed against Jack's shoulder. Jack squeezes him close and smooths his bedhead. It’s probably foolhardy that he _isn’t_ worried right now, but he can’t be. Not with Jesse. He returns the smile, buries it in Jesse’s hair.

"We're gonna make this work, Jack. It's gonna be good," Jesse says. "It's gonna be so goddamn good.

"I know."


End file.
